Jerusalem is a port city on the shore of eternity.
From the place where we are right, flowers will not grow in the spring.
Love is like a reservoir of kindness and pleasure, like silos and pools during a siege.
Behind all this, some great happiness is hiding.
I think the end is endless. It's either a big black hole or a big white light or both together. But it's totally meaningless, because even if someone would explain it, I wouldn't understand it.
I’ve never been in those places where I’ve never been and never will be, I have no share in the infinity of light-years and dark-years, but the darkness is mine, and the light, and my time is my own.
My poems are political in the deeper sense of the word. Political means to live in your time, to be a man of your time.
It was not an adventure; it was my life.
I wanted to be calm, like a mound with all its cities destroyed, and tranquil, like a full cemetery.
And as we stray further from love, we multiply the words. Had we remained together we could have become a silence.
There are two languages: one as things seem to us and the other of knowledge.
Here (Jerusalem), tears do not weaken the eyes, they only polish and shine the hardness of faces like stone.
Knowledge of peace passes from country to country, like children's games, which are so much alike, everywhere.
The reason a poet is a poet is to write poems, not to advertise himself as a poet.
Tonight I think again of many days that are sacrificed for one night of love. Of the waste and the fruit of the waste, of plenty and of fire. And how painlessly-time.
I try to stay a civilian, to live as a human, not as a poet.
The soul inside me is the last foreign language I'm learning,
A flock of sheep near the airport or a high voltage generator beside the orchard: these combinations open up my life like a wound, but they also heal it. That's why my feelings always come in twos.
God has pity on kindergarten children
The phrase I like to use to describe my sense of time-a play on comparative literature-is comparative time.
The world of religion isn't a logical world; that's why children like it. It's a world of worked-out fantasies, very similar to children's stories or fairy tales.
The memory of my father is wrapped up in white paper, like sandwiches taken for a day of work. Just as a magician takes towers and rabbits out of his hat, he drew love from his small body.
Every intelligent person, whether hes an artist or not - a mathematician, a doctor, a scientist - possesses a poetic way of seeing and describing the world.
Even if a poet writes about sitting in a glass house drinking tea, it reflects politics.
And I said to myself: That's true, hope needs to be like barbed wire to keep out despair, hope must be a mine field.
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